The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Archer
by Honeybee1111
Summary: After destroying the Xindi weapon, the crew is thrown back to the Elizabethan era and must figure out a way to restore the timeline and get home. Contains het romance, including TnT. AU story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _Star Trek_ is not my property. No profit made.

The following story is a response to The Delphic Expanse's March 2011 History Challenge, in which participants were randomly assigned a historical period and were asked to write a fic somehow set in that period. I was assigned "The Tudor Court", and this alternative to "Storm Front" is the result. Some dialogue is adapted from "Storm From" by Manny Coto. It will heavily feature Archer, Trip, T'Pol and Malcolm, and it will contain a TnT romance.

* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer closed his eyes, but he still couldn't escape the fact that he was out of time, once again. All he had to do was inhale the foul London air, ripe with the smells of livestock, sewage and far too many unwashed bodies to be reminded of his situation.

He opened his eyes, and before him he saw the rich carpet which lined the street in front of his feet. He had been told to make sure no part of his boot touched the carpet. He glanced over at Silik, who had taken human form and was dressed in head-to-toe black, save a stiff white collar around his neck.

_No, not Silik_, thought Archer, _Sir Steven_. Sir Steven was the name Silik had been using since he had landed in this time and place.

Archer sighed, looking down at his own ridiculous outfit. He had a similar collar, which itched terribly, but his clothing was bright blue and embroidered with gold. Silik had insisted that black clothes, such as the ones he wore, would not be appropriate for a prosperous sea captain.

Archer shook his head. Had it been only days ago that he had destroyed the Xindi weapon? He had thought to be dead after that, and he considered the possibility that he was. To punctuate that theory, Archer glanced up at a nearby gate and the rotting head of some unfortunate person which was impaled on a spire.

_This could very well be hell. _

But Silik insisted Archer wasn't in hell. Silik claimed they were on Earth, centuries before Archer's birth. And, more than that, Silik claimed they were on the same side. In fact, he had pretty much convinced Archer of that.

A commotion down the road interrupted his thoughts. A large party of humans, dressed in clothes even more elaborate than Archer's, proceeded down the road. Silik nodded at him. Both of them had their eyes on two men who stood across the road from them.

The large party of people approached, and as they did, Archer saw the woman who was at the center of the group. She was a tiny woman, with flame red hair that tied back behind a velvet cap. She wore a red silken gown and white collar, both so large that they looked as if they could swallow her. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, and she was young. He had always thought of this woman as old, with a painted face to hide her age. The woman walking among the crowd and greeting people was in her twenties and clearly healthy, and although she wasn't pretty, her long face had a striking elegance.

Archer watched as she knelt to accept a bouquet of flowers from a little girl, dressed in rags, who had curtsied deeply. The woman's face, which had been as placid as T'Pol's, broke in to a smile as she thanked the child.

Suddenly, the two men across from Archer opened their cloaks and produced weapons. The weapons appeared to be pistols of the period, but Silik had warned Archer that they were particle weapons.

Archer and Silik each pulled out weapons of their own, true to the time but tweaked with 23rd Century know-how, and they fired at the assassins. Both assailants fell quickly, their own weapons falling, unfired but still pointing at the queen, whose eyes were wide with shock.

She had made a gesture to her guards, and they moved toward the fallen men, who had transformed into reptilian Suliban as they died. Hopefully, everyone would simply think they had plague. At least, that's what Silik had insisted would happen.

The queen approached.

"Kneel, idiot," whispered Silik.

Archer dropped to his knees with a flourish he had learned when he had been an extra in a high school production of _Hamlet_. Silik was next to him, doing much the same.

The queen stepped close to both of them, an expression of shock and terror on her face. Archer saw that her hands trembled as she clutched one in the other on the front of her dress. She trained her eyes on Archer and he looked up and straight at her for a moment. Their eyes met, and before he could help it, Archer smiled at her. To his shock, she briefly smiled back before her guards spirited her away.

A black-clad man, with a black beard, who had been one of the many with the queen, lingered.

Archer and Silik, now on their feet, each bowed curtly to him.

"Sir Stephen," he said, "You did well to identify the assassins and stop them. Perhaps the queen will listen to her wise counsel regarding her safety."

Silik nodded. "Sir Francis Walsingham, may I present Captain Jonathan Archer. He brought me the intelligence regarding the conspiracy against her majesty."

Archer took a hard look at the stern fellow before him. He didn't know who the guy was, but he guessed that the man was the queen's Malcolm. He had a look, both in his expression and stance, that said "Chief of Security" or whatever the Renaissance equivalent of that post.

"Well, Captain Archer," said Sir Francis, "I'm sure her majesty will want to reward you for your courage."

Archer glanced at Silik. If Silik was right about the temporal results of saving the queen from the assassins, they wouldn't be around long enough for Archer to be rewarded, which he instinctively knew would be a good thing.

* * *

T'Pol stood silently and still in the quiet of sickbay. From the various scans, the position of the stars and Daniels's ramblings, they had deduced that they were orbiting Earth circa the year 1560. T'Pol understood little of how or why they had been transported there, but Daniels had been insisting that unless Archer completed his mission that there would be no future for any of them to go back to. This confused her, since Archer's mission to destroy the Xindi weapon had been successful, at the cost of his own life.

"Portions of Daniels' body have aged at a dramatic rate. In some areas, the tissue is over a hundred years old. Yet, other sections have been reduced to an almost fetal stage," said Phlox as he examined Daniels.

She stepped closer. She had never seen a humanoid with such damage to his body remain alive. "Do you have any theories as to what caused this?"

"It's not any kind of infectious organism, at least, nothing that shows up on my medical scanner."

"Will he survive?" she asked.

"Frankly, with his amount of cellular chaos, I'm surprised he's still alive. I doubt he'll live more than 24 hours," replied Phlox grimly.

T'Pol stared at the patient, who was clearly in agony. She was currently in command of a vessel that was exiled centuries out of its own time. Her only hope of returning her crew home was this dying and delirious man.

"He very well could be responsible for our being here. He could also be the only hope of getting back to our own time. It is imperative that I speak with him."

With that, she turned on her heel and left. Her mind raced. She thought of the other crew, the one that had been trapped back in time. Would she be forced to lead a crew of temporal exiles?

As she headed toward the bridge, she ran into Commander Tucker...Trip, who had been so angry when they had discovered themselves out of time.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said, without preamble, "I was just ready to get home."

She sighed. "We all were. I had hoped to visit Vulcan. It's been a long time since I've been home."

Trip sighed. She thought for a moment he might say something more, something personal. But his expression changed, and he began to speak of the business at hand.

"Malcolm's detected some delta radiation emissions on the surface that shouldn't be there. By coincidence, they are emitting from his home country. He wants to go down and investigate."

T'Pol nodded. "We'll see what intelligence we can gain from Daniels, and then I'll send Mr. Reed down. You'll need to go, as well. You will be most useful in tracking and understanding the source of the radiation."

Trip nodded. "We're limited in who we can take to the surface. Malcolm thinks we'll need to blend in. So, we can't take Hoshi or Travis or anyone member of the crew who would stick out in Merry Old England at this time...but you can pass, I think. Mal says women at this time all have long hair and wear hats on top of that."

T'Pol thought for a moment. If Captain Archer were here, he would not have left the reconnaissance to subordinates. She would go and find out what she could.

Suddenly, Phlox appeared in the corridor.

"Daniels is awake, and he wishes to speak to you, Captain."

T'Pol acknowledged the doctor with a nod, and she turned back toward sickbay, with Trip following. Daniels looked terrible, but he was sitting up and fiddling with the instrument.

"Archer succeeded in what we needed him to do," wheezed Daniels, "Silik brought him here to stop the assassination of Elizabeth I of England. He did that, but the timeline isn't restored. Our futures still don't exist."

T'Pol and Trip locked eyes. An emotion surged forth, and she could not suppress it. Hope.

"Captain Archer was brought here?" asked Trip, emotion evident in his voice. "Daniels, you smug son of bitch, you better not be lying."

Daniels did not react, his attention on his instrument.

"Silik brought him here? How do you know?" asked Malcolm.

Daniels weakly pressed some buttons. "Mine enemy's enemy is my friend. An ultra-radical faction within the Temporal Cold War intended to wipe out the Suliban Cabal and the Federation, filling the vacuum themselves. Neither the Cabal or the Federation wanted that. They were going to stop the formation of the Federation by killing Elizabeth I of England and holding back the Protestant Reformation and the English settlement of North America, pushing back the Enlightenment by several centuries. The assassination didn't happen, but the timelines aren't restored."

Daniels gasped, pressing more buttons and continued. "Here's the history as it is. You've got to find Archer and Silik, and you've got to make history like it is in your database on _Enterprise_. Not like this."

He slowly handed the device to Trip as his eyes fluttered. Trip held the device and looked at it before looking back at Daniels, who started to convulse.

"I'm going to have to ask you both to step aside," said Phlox, "I need to work."

Trip and T'Pol obeyed, heading out of sickbay with Trip still clutching Daniel's device.


	2. Chapter 2

Archer paced the small room where he had lodged with Silik. Silik, still in human form, busily examined his instrument.

"I don't understand. According to this, there are no more assassins. Elizabeth the First reigned for a good forty years. Her forces defeated the Spanish Armada and facilitating the settlement of much of North America by the English and French, rather than the Spanish. Our rescue of her should have restored the timeline."

Archer sighed. He never thought he'd miss Daniels, but Daniels was a better temporal traveling companion than Silik. Archer sat down next to Silik, and he moved to grab the device.

But before he could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Jon and Silik stood up. A young, elaborately dressed man - a court page Jon assumed - came in and bowed.

"Her most gracious majesty wishes to thank Sir Steven Silk and Captain Jonathan Archer for their service to her. She has found you both lodgings at court."

Archer glanced at Silik. As much as it pained him, if he was ever going to get back to his own time, he needed to figure out how to restore the timeline. Court was probably a good place to start.

"Tell her majesty we are honored," said Silik.

"Yes," said Archer, who did not speak very often. Even though the UT allegedly would hide his accent and translate his speech into Elizabethan English, just as it was translating it for him, he didn't fully trust the device. "Please thank the Queen for me as well."

The page bowed, and once he left, Silik moved toward a large truck and threw it open. It contained a pile of items, most of which appeared to be from their timeline. "Now we must figure out what gifts to bring her majesty."

Archer sighed. Apparently this version of Silik had been trapped in this timeline for nearly a year, building a cover identity and trying to find out when the assassination would happen. He'd managed to ingratiate himself into the queen's security forces via a combination of forged letters and an ability to get himself into buildings he shouldn't have been able to get into. His capture of a Jesuit hiding in Whitehall Chapel, with a stash of letters addressed to the Duke of Norfolk had garnered him a knighthood.

"I've got just the thing," said Silik, "The Queen will be impressed. You should give it her. She's got a thing for captains."

* * *

Malcolm rubbed his hands in his face. He, Trip and T'Pol were in the captain's mess, examining the now deceased Daniels's instrument. Malcolm was reading history from the device, or at least what the device said was history.

"This is all wrong," said Malcolm. "All wrong."

T'Pol looked over at Trip, and then back to Malcolm. "My knowledge of Earth history is limited. What specifically is wrong with the timeline?"

Malcolm shook his head. "The United States never existed. The northern two thirds of North America remained part of the Commonwealth...the house of Hanover never ruled over England. The Stuarts were there, but there was no Cromwell or regicide. James Stuart ruled, but he did so along with his wife Anne the First...I'm confused. The Stuart Queen Anne ruled a century later."

T'Pol leaned forward. "It's obviously a different Queen Anne. Do you think you can pinpoint when the timeline went wrong? We must determine that if we are to proceed."

Trip got up and looked out the window at the bright blue planet below. "We also need to figure out what to do if we're stuck here. It's possible we may never get home."

Malcolm noticed a tell-tale bit of emotion on T'Pol's face, but when she spoke it was with a cool monotone. "I'm not ready to consider that possibility yet."

Malcolm was restless. "I just thought of something. This little device contains a huge amount of data on Earth's history. Perhaps if we look search the historical record for someone we know isn't supposed to be there-."

Malcolm typed the search term "Jonathan Archer" quickly into the device. It searched through millions of records. His eyes scanned and skipped over obvious references to the wrong Jonathan Archer. Then, he found a small record in an encyclopedia of the Elizabethan Age.

He read it. Then he read it again. After a third time, its contents finally registered. Malcolm was suddenly grateful he was sitting down.

"Well, I've found him. Or what happened to him," sputtered Malcolm.

"You mean he's really here?" Trip turned around, his face looking brighter and happier than it had in as long as Malcolm remembered.

Although the change was more subtle, T'Pol's face softened and her stance became slightly less rigid. Unfortunately, what Malcolm was about to tell them was going to complicate everything. He took a deep breath and he read the passage:

"Sir Jonathan Archer was a courtier in the early reign of Elizabeth the First. A sea captain of obscure origins, he rose to prominence after helping rescue the queen from an assassination plot. He quickly found favor at court and remained close to the queen until her marriage to King Erik of Sweden. Unfounded rumors at court speculated that the prematurely born Princess Anne, Elizabeth's only child, may have been fathered by Archer rather than the Queen's husband. In later years, Archer led several exploration expeditions to North America and founded the first settlement in North America, named Annapolis, in honor of the birth of Princess Anne."

Trip grabbed the device from Malcolm. "That son of bitch," he said nervously.

T'Pol's eyebrow raised. "At least, now we know where to scan for the captain's biosign."

Malcolm, whose stomach was suddenly in knots, nodded. "Even if we pinpoint his location, it won't be easy to get to him. Elizabeth the First had more security than any other contemporary monarch. And her court was in perpetual motion, moving from palace to palace."

Trip smiled, "Princess Anne was born in late 1563. That means eventually Archer will show up at her court soon, if he's not there now. I should go see if Hoshi can scan for him. We might be able to just transport him out of there."

Malcolm shook his head. "That won't be enough. We can't be sure if just removing Archer will restore the timeline. Plus, we could cause a panic if we transport him in front of witnesses. We should physically go and find him."

T'Pol nodded. "We need to contact the quartermaster for clothing. Mr. Reed, will you be able to advise us on proper protocols for this time and place."

Reed sighed. "I remember some from school. And I'll consult the database."

Trip grinned. "If he's alive, we'll find him."

* * *

Jonathan Archer watched the Queen's long, pretty fingers move with swift precision over a keyboard. He recognized the tune, but he couldn't place it. The harpsichord-like instrument she played sounded tinnier than a piano, but it wasn't unpleasant to hear. The queen sat on a stool, and her huge gown of green and gold pooled onto the floor. She wore a white collar, a velvet hat and more jewels than Archer had ever seen on a person. Around her neck she wore a chain on which she had strung newly acquired large diamond, nearly perfect in quality. What she didn't know was, that the diamond had been manufactured on Silik's ship for industrial use. Enterprise had equipment that could do the same, turning carbon waste into the hard gem in a matter of hours.

However, as far as the queen knew, Archer had obtained the diamond on a sailing expedition to India. She was delighted with it. So delighted, she had invited Archer into her private chamber. They weren't alone of course, a half dozen guards and just as many ladies in waiting stood around the room, watching the stranger carefully. Yet, when the queen spoke to him, Archer found it easy to forget the others were there.

"You play beautifully, your grace," said Archer, hoping he was using the correct address.

"My father wrote this tune. Do you like it?" she asked haughtily. Although her voice was sharp and distant, she met his eyes, and Archer recognized playfulness there. Flirtation, as well.

"Yes," he replied, as he retrieved information about her father from the recesses of his memory. He pictured an obese man with at turkey leg, one that had had six wives.

It dawned on Archer that this woman's father had essentially murdered her mother, framing his own wife for adultery and other trumped up charges. Elizabeth's mother had been beheaded. Archer had heard about it as a boy, on a tour of The Tower of London. At the time, he couldn't understand how a man could order the death his wife. He still couldn't, though he knew a little bit more about how love could turn dark very quickly.

He looked at the queen, who despite her youth, commanded attention and respect as much as any person he'd ever seen. He racked his brain for what he knew of her, which wasn't much. He'd seen her portrayed in movies. He knew she'd given her name to an entire age. He surmised from what few facts he knew of her life, that she was as shrewd a politician that had ever lived and benefited by the high intelligence and charisma he had witnessed in her.

She finished playing her piece, dropped her hands on her skirt and spoke. "If you do something, do it well."

He laughed. "There's no other way to live one's life, your grace. I like to do things right the first time, myself."

She gazed at him, surprised and then impressed. "I don't know many sea captains with such a command of latin, Captain Archer. You do yourself credit."

Archer paused. He didn't know much Latin, beyond a few proverbs, but her surmised she had spoken in Latin and the universal translator had done its work. He made a note to himself to catalog "impressing queens" as an ancillary use for the universal translator.

"I only mean to be a credit to my queen, your grace," he replied.

She smiled at that. "I have decided to reward you with a knighthood. I shall have my clerk draw up the documents. Do you accept?"

Archer thought for a moment. Silik had devised a backstory for him about having been raised on the European continent by his Swedish mother but having a father who was a shipbuilder from the north of England. A knighthood could only enhance his cover.

"I'm honored, your grace," he replied.

She nodded curtly. "After the ceremony, we shall take a cruise on my barge."

Archer sighed. This was probably a good thing. Silik theorized that whatever had caused the timeline to go amiss, it had something to do with the queen. Getting close to her could help him find out what that something was.

* * *

On balance, Trip had preferred the visit to the western-style planet in the Expanse to this. At least there, he had seen enough movies to know how to behave and what to expect.

"Shakespeare always bored me, Mal," he said as he helped T'Pol step over a puddle of mud, "except the sword fighting."

"I believe we're a generation too early for Shakespeare," replied Malcolm, who walked behind them.

The quartermaster had dressed them in clothing appropriate for the period. Trip and T'Pol wore the bright colored clothes of prosperous gentry, and Trip had even insisted on wedding bands to further the ruse that they were married. He didn't know much about this time, but he knew that an unmarried woman traveling with two men would not be treated well. T'Pol had deemed the plan logical, remaining completely expressionless as he had put the ring on her finger. Malcolm was dressed soberly, in the clothing befitting a Protestant minister. Back at the house they had rented, several members of the crew were acting as Master and Mistress Tucker's servants. Malcolm thought that better than hiring locals, both to give the appearance of wealth and for their position to remain secure.

Trip glanced over at T'Pol, who wore a gown of mustard yellow with a white collar. Her hair extensions had been styled to cover her ears, since the white cap atop her head did not reach around her them.

"Who's this guy we're meeting, Mal?" said Trip as they turned into the grounds of a small, but obviously expensive stone house along the river.

"His name is Sir Robert Dudley. Lately the Queen's Master of Horse. The Queen gave him this house as a gift."

Trip whistled as the three of them walked up the garden path. "Nice gift."

"Nice exile," replied Malcolm. "Just as in the proper timeline, he's been sent to this house to cool his heels while investigators determine whether or not his unfortunate wife was murdered or died by accident. However, in this incorrect timeline, he never returned to court because the verdict was inconclusive."

T'Pol stopped. "What of the proper timeline? What is supposed to happen?"

Malcolm looked up at the big, wooden doors. "Lady Dudley's death is supposed to be declared accidental. Sir Robert Dudley is supposed to return to court, but the rumors and whispers will make him an impossible choice for a Royal Consort. They never married."

Malcolm reached up and knocked with the brass knocker on the door. "So, we need to clear this man's name - more or less - before Archer can replace him in the queen's affections."

The door creaked open, and a servant appeared. Malcolm introduced them, and the three entered Kew House.


	3. Chapter 3

Silik paced the larger, and much draftier, rooms they now shared at the enormous Palace of Whitehall. Archer sat on a chair, reading the signed document that would make him Sir Jonathan Archer. Captain Sir Jonathan Archer, or so Silik had informed him would be his formal title. Silik had had little to do in the past year but research protocols.

Archer, who had only been to London in his own time a handful of times, nevertheless realized that the expansive palace, which was really more of a compound, covered more that a few blocks of what eventually became city blocks packed with government buildings. The palace probably had thousands of rooms and housed thousands of people, from the queen and her ladies to the lowliest of courtiers. It smelled like it, too. Archer shook his head, grateful that T'Pol didn't have to smell the palace courtyard.

"You must change your clothes," sneered SIlik, "It will impress the queen of your wealth if you aren't wearing the same clothes."

Archer sighed. Silik was clever. The Suliban had quietly sold more than a few other, smaller, manufactured diamonds and therefore had a stash of local currency. He'd been outfitting himself in the black clothes that the more austere protestants who worked for Elizabeth's security team wore. Initially, Silik had forced the sea captain cover on Archer simply because he hadn't believed Archer could pass for a religious zealot. Now that it appeared they had more work to do to restore the timeline, the cover proved useful. Elizabeth tended to take a personal interest in her sea captains, especially ones who saved her life and gifted her with large diamonds.

Archer sighed. He suddenly appreciated that he had earned his merit badges in knot tying and sailing. If he had to pass as the captain of a sailing ship, he'd have to make do with that knowledge.

Archer shook his head and got to his feet. The only thing he was still wearing that wasn't from this century were his boots, which Silik said could be worn for hunting or riding and other outdoor activities but not for formal occasions. Archer shook his head. However, if he was going to see the queen again, he'd have to change to shoes. Uncomfortable, wooden shoes.

Archer leaned over and pulled off his boots. There was so much to learn. He missed Malcolm Reed, who would have been invaluable help, not only informing him on English history but on seafaring. Truthfully, he missed his whole crew. It had only been a few weeks, but he realized that he needed all of his officers. There was nothing like being trapped in a hostile time period with Silik to illustrate that.

* * *

T'Pol sat on the edge of her seat, her hands in her lap. After being presented Sir Robert, she was whisked by servants into a pleasant room with a view of the garden outside. Books, musical instruments and sewing supplies filled the many shelves. Mr. Reed had warned her that women of this time were not included in matters such as the ones he and Trip were currently discussing with the house's owner. T'Pol remained still, wondering if for appearance sake she should pick up one of the ornate books.

Suddenly, a servant appeared. "Lady Mary Sidney," he announced formally. T'Pol stood up and curtseyed briefly to the young, red-headed woman who had walked into the room. She wore a dress and hat similar to T'Pol's, but she was wearing elaborate gold necklace, and shoes with high-heels peeked out from under her dress as she walked.

"Mistress Tucker, I'm so pleased to meet you. My brother, Sir Robert, sent me to keep you company. I understand your husband fled to Venice during the reign of Mary and that is where he met and married you."

T'Pol nodded. "Indeed, my husband's business ventures required his attention, so we could only now return."

Reed had drilled her in details their cover story. She was a Protestant and from a place called Venice. Trip had met her in her home city, where he had fled to avoid being burned alive by the previous queen. T'Pol's universal translator had been programmed so that she spoke English with an accent specifically to Northern Italy, to further the ruse.

The Lady Mary thought for a moment. "And your husband has property in Cumbria? I hadn't known there were many reformists there."

T'Pol nodded. "There were few, and since he had the means to travel as well as a place to gain sanctuary, Mr. Tucker thought it prudent to flee."

Lady Mary seemed genuinely touched by the story. She, like many others, had faced danger during the previous regime. "Your husband must be glad to be home, but you must miss your home."

"Indeed," replied T'Pol, wistfully. It had been too long since she had seen Vulcan. "Yet, I am content with my husband's company."

"I must say, that does not surprise me. I briefly saw your husband before I came to you. He's quite handsome." The Lady Mary paused, and she appeared to study T'Pol's features. "And I knew you were foreign when I saw you walk up the path, despite your English dress. You haven't the look of an English woman. Your skin is dark, almost as dark my brother Robin's is. They call him the Gypsy, you know-"

Suddenly, a young boy of about six dashed into the room. He wore black clothes, covered in what appeared to be animal hair, and his white collar was askew. He ran to Lady Sidney's skirts. The woman smiled warmly.

"Philip," she said, "Have you escaped Nanny again?"

"She won't let me hold the cats," he said, "but I chased Geoffrey into the chamber where Uncle Robin is meeting with the strangers. I couldn't follow."

Mary proceeded to brush the hair from the boy and fix his collar. "Mistress Tucker, this is my son, Lord Philip Sidney."

T'Pol realized the boy outranked her, so she curtseyed to him. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"It's a pleasure to know you, Mistress Tucker," he said.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied.

The Lady Mary looked down at her son. "Now, go to Nanny. She'll get you a fresh doublet for dinner. If you show up to dinner looking like that, Uncle Robin might make you eat in the nursery."

After the boy had run off and out the door, Lady Mary shut it with a click and turned to T'Pol.

"Mistress Tucker...is it true that your husband and the Reverend Reed have information that could clear my brother?"

T'Pol cast her eyes down. This was part of the story. "No, milady, but we did hear of Jesuit plots to use Lady Dudley's death to frame your brother for her murder. We believe the investigation could be tainted."

Lady Mary looked distressed by this news. "Reverend Reed has proof that this is so?"

T'Pol wondered for a moment if she should speak. Making sure that Amy Dudley's death was ruled accidental was their primary purpose, aside from finding the captain and getting him away from the queen.

T'Pol shook her head. "Only his word, milady, but he and Mr. Tucker were concerned enough of what they had heard to come inform your brother straight away. We are not known at court, and therefore Reverend Reed and my husband thought it best we contact your brother."

Mary nodded. "We shall see what will become of their conversation. As you know, these are troubling times and her majesty faces many enemies from within the kingdom and abroad."

T'Pol searched the face of this young woman, and she saw a person of intelligence who understood the risks and implications of the information. T'Pol sensed that this woman was bright enough to doubt their story. She was not a soft and weak person, and it frustrated T'Pol to think that this woman was often shut out of important discussions purely on the basis of her being a female.

T'Pol glanced over at a wooden lute which hung from a rack on the wall. The instrument resembled a Vulcan lute, which T'Pol knew how to play, although never very well. It was simply part of her studies to learn music. She stepped forward, and she found herself impressed with the quality of the instrument. As barbaric as humans of this era were, the could certainly craft instruments well.

"Do you play, Mistress Tucker?"

T'Pol nodded, and The Lady Mary took the lute and handed it to her. T'Pol and Mary sat down on the settee, and T'Pol strummed the instrument a few times to get a sense of its tuning. Then, she began to play a lilting Vulcan tune.

Mary listened for a moment, and then smiled. "That is so lovely, Mistress Tucker. Is that a tune from your people? I've not heard it before."

T'Pol continued to play. "Yes, it was a favorite of my mother," she replied softly as she continued to play. She hadn't seen T'Les in many years, and she wondered if she ever would again. "She taught me this song. It's very ancient."

* * *

Trip stared at Malcolm and this Sir Robert, who was dressed in expensive looking clothes and had a neatly trimmed beard. The guy, who was probably a few years younger that Trip, listened intently to the story Malcolm had concocted, which wasn't really a story at all. According to several books from Enterprise's database, Jesuits of the this time had engaged in conspiracies to make it look like this Sir Robert had knocked off his wife so he could marry the queen. Even though they weren't from where they said they were, they had heard of such plots and were informing Sir Robert. That part wasn't a lie.

Trip tried to assess the guy. He was good-looking, there was no doubt about that. Tall, dark and handsome and everything that went along with that, including arrogance. He was also cold and intense, and he seemed like he was a world class snob. He certainly looked like the kind of guy who might push his wife down a set of stairs if he thought being king would be the reward.

Trip had asked Malcolm if Sir Robert had been innocent.

"Nobody knows," Malcolm had replied, "but if he wasn't, it wouldn't be the first time intelligence officers tried to frame a guilty man."

On the other hand, since Sir Robert was obviously suspect number one, it didn't make much sense if he had killed his wife in a way that cast suspicion on himself. He couldn't be that stupid, could he?

Trip hadn't said much during the conversation. Malcolm knew the history of this time and place, and Trip didn't, so Trip thought it best to be quiet. Malcolm meanwhile chatted with his countryman, almost amiably, about the rare December warmth and what festivities might occur for Christmas. Trip envied him a little. Malcolm was home. He may have been out of time, but the easy way he interacted with everyone made it obvious that he wasn't out of place.

"I've heard tell sir, of a recent assassination attempt on her majesty. What can you tell us of this? We fear this might be the work of the same forces that mean you ill."

Sir Robert shook his head, and he suddenly looked legitimately angry and picked up a goblet of wine from the table and took a long sip. "If I find out that any of those papists harmed poor Amy to get to me, they'll find no sanctuary until I've destroyed them," he spat. Malcolm said nothing. Neither did Trip. Eventually, Sir Robert continued. "There were two assassins, both deformed by pox or plague or some such. They meant to shoot her majesty, but one of Walsingham's men, Sir Steven, stopped them. He and some sea captain...a sea captain that apparently has pleased her majesty. She's bestowed a knighthood on this nobody and has granted him several audiences."

Sir Robert drew in a breath, and Trip recognized jealousy. And from what Malcolm had read in Daniels's history, Sir Robert had every reason to be jealous.

"What is the man's name?" asked Malcolm casually.

"Jonathan Archer," replied Sir Robin, "Sir Jonathan Archer, now."

Trip and Malcolm exchanged a look. The captain had already won the favor of the queen.

"I'm acquainted with him," said Malcolm. "Once upon a time, Mr. Tucker and I served on his ship."

This clearly got Sir Robert's attention. "What do you know if him?" he asked.

Malcolm glanced at Trip. "He's nobody to fear, an explorer, primarily. I guarantee his main interest is getting back to his ship and going on his way."

Sir Robin emptied his goblet and placed it roughly on the table. "He'll be easy enough to be rid of then, once I clear my name."

Trip bit his lip but stayed silent. At least we all have the same goals, he thought.

"Well, Sir Robert," said Malcolm, "We're glad to have been able to help you."

Sir Robert nodded, and then suddenly, servant opened the large wooden door of the sitting room. Through the door came a solemn tune played on a string instrument. Trip knew in an instant it wasn't a human tune.

"I think my wife has found a way to entertain herself," he said, with a hint of grin. He had gotten used to calling T'Pol his wife.

"I'm not familiar with the tune," said Sir Robert.

"It's Venetian," replied Malcolm.

Sir Robert beckoned them to follow as he headed toward the sound of the music. They arrived in some sort of a sitting room, and T'Pol was there playing a lute. Sir Robert's sister watched, clearly fascinated.

"I wish I knew words to it that I could sing," she said. "It's a beautiful tune."

"There are no words, that I know of," replied T'Pol.

"Then perhaps I shall compose some," said Mary, who then noticed she and T'Pol were no longer alone.

Malcolm's eyes widened, and he bowed graciously. Trip followed Malcolm's lead, and also bowed to the young woman. Lady Mary smiled at both of them. T'Pol continued to play for a few moments before before finishing.

Trip was about to say he had no idea she could play, but he stopped himself. Women in this time were expected to play instruments. As her husband, he would know that she could, anyway. So, he just smiled at her.

"Very beautiful, Mistress Tucker," said Sir Robert, "We shall have to teach you some English tunes, that is if your husband hasn't taught you some already."

Trip shook his head. He didn't know much, but he knew the harmonica had not yet been invented. "No," he replied, "I'm not much of a musician myself."

Lady Mary took the lute from T'Pol and returned it to its stand. "Now that we're neighbors. I'm sure I'll have the opportunity to hear you play again."

T'Pol nodded and thanked her before moving to Trip's side and allowing him to take her arm. She met his eyes, and he wondered what she was thinking. Humans of this time were strange to him. He couldn't imagine what a Vulcan would think of them.

"You two are definitely newly wed," said Lady Mary, "I can tell by the way you look at each other. When were you married?"

Trip froze. They hadn't specifically decided that. T'Pol was silent, so Trip spoke, "Less than a year," replied Trip. He turned and saw Malcolm who had a strange look on his face, somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Suddenly feeling very much in character, Trip kissed his wife's hand, and she rewarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"With your permission, we shall take our leave. If we can be of further service, please let us know," said Malcolm. "Something tells me our newlyweds wish to be alone."

Sir Robert nodded. "That is quite understandable, but you must return soon. I am interested in your knowledge of the queen's new pet sea captain. Perhaps you can assist me in learning more about him. I wish to know why the queen suddenly finds him so indispensable."

Malcolm smiled at that. "We'd be happy to do that."

We'll even go find him and get him out of your way, thought Trip as they said their goodbyes, and he also wondered what in heaven's name Jonathan had done to make himself indispensable to a queen.

* * *

Sir Jonathan Archer knew how to do many things. Pilot a starship. Play every position in water polo. Swear in Klingon and Andorian. He also didn't know how to do many things. These included riding a horse, let alone hunting a fox on one. He also didn't know how to play tennis or how to shoot a bow and arrow. All of these things, according to Silik, would have endeared him to Elizabeth.

However, Archer was good at one thing that would be of use to her, and he had quickly found a way to do it.

Now, he stood in the courtyard and told a trio of toy spaniels to sit and heel. Archer had overheard one of the queen's ladies complain that the ill-behaved pets had torn apart the curtains in Elizabeth's bedroom. If Archer knew anything, it was how to train dogs. Using 22nd Century know-how, it had only taken him a day's work to get the three little dogs sitting, heeling, staying, rolling over and fetching.

He leaned down and began petting and scratching the three spaniels, each of which wagged, turned over and chased its tail. Archer firmly told them to sit, and one by one, each did. He rewarded them with bits of dried meat he'd obtained from the kitchen.

He heard applause from above, and he turned around and saw the queen standing on a balcony above him. She smiled and nodded. Her ladies whispered in her ear. They were laughing.

Archer tipped his hat and bowed, hoping that this was just another step toward home.


	4. Chapter 4

Trip and T'Pol made their way through the numerous and confusing halls of Whitehall Palace. People of all ranks from servant to noble moved through the building, which was musty and damp and smelled terrible. T'Pol was grateful for her nasal numbing agent and her keen memory. Their scanners, which they had tucked away in their layered clothing, had told them where to look for the strange radiation readings, which had become muted since they first arrived.

However, it shocked none of them that the radiation that still showed up on the scans was emitting from Whitehall. It had become of the utmost importance to discover the source of the radiation because T'Pol believed it was interfering with their scanners' ability to find the captain. The whole of Whitehall was a kind of dead zone that their most sophisticated scanners couldn't reach.

"I'm still keeping an eye out for the captain," said Trip, "I know this place is huge, but we should still be looking for him."

"It's very possible that the radiation readings will lead us to him," replied T'Pol in a low voice as they reached a door. It appeared to lead toward a residential apartment, and not a very important one. They were in a section of the palace far from the queen's chambers.

Trip knocked on the door. There was no answer. T'Pol looked around and intended to use a hidden piece of equipment to open the lock, but she stopped short. A human man in black clothes and a white collar, very similar to the clothes Malcolm wore, appeared in the corridor. At least, he looked human, but she would recognize him anywhere.

He tortured her once. It was hardly something she could forget.

"Silik, you son-of-bitch, where's the captain?" spat Trip as he moved toward the Suliban, eyes and body language reflecting his anger.

"I've lost track of your captain, human," replied Silik in a low voice. "He has more important company than mine to amuse him these days." The Suliban produced a key and unlocked the door. To T'Pol's surprise, he beckoned them inside.

"We know he's gotten the attention of the queen," said Trip, "If we're going to restore the timeline, we have to get him out of here."

T'Pol pulled out a scanner. She found the source of the radiation was a trunk in the corner. Now that her scanner was in close proximity, it appeared to be the kind of radiation that would come from equipment such as Silik and Daniels used in their time traveling.

Silik frowned. "Your captain believes that he might restore the timeline if he can win the queen's favor. She might help us understand what has gone wrong. Since the timeline went awry, I have no information on which-"

Trip laughed, unpleasantly. "That plan backfires, according to our information."

Silik squinted. "What do you mean?"

Trip briefly explained what Malcolm had read in the history, and Silik kicked the side of a desk. "What is it with you humans? Is there no end to your ability to make bad situations worse?"

T'Pol glared at him. "We need to speak to him. Do you know where he is?"

Silik folded his arms. "He's gone to the country with her majesty. I don't know when he'll return."

Trip glanced at her. At least they knew where he was, and that he would return. That was at least progress.

* * *

It was late afternoon and Archer and Elizabeth were riding together. A dozen of her guards rode behind them, but they were back far enough to create the illusion that they were alone.

"You know, Sir Jonathan, you ride with the form one would expect of a sea captain," she said.

Jon glanced at her and she smiled. She liked to tease, but she meant no harm. She was right, too. He'd been on a horse four times in his life, so he knew his form must be atrocious.

"I could never hope to compete with you, your grace," he said, and he wasn't exaggerating. He didn't know much about horseback riding, but she rode with such elegance, it seemed like she and her white horse were telepathically connected. And she managed to do this in a bulbous velvet gown.

"It's a beautiful horse you are riding. The most beautiful I've ever seen," he said.

To his surprise, she looked appalled at the remark, and then angry. He, in turn, must have looked bewildered, and her face softened into sadness. Damn, this woman changes moods quickly, he thought.

"We miss our master of horse," she said, inhaling softly as she spoke.

Archer looked at her blankly. "Your grace, I'm just a humble sea captain. I am not current on court gossip. What happened to your master of horse?" he asked carefully, assuming the man must be dead.

She met his eyes. "He's under investigation for murder. He's innocent, but I had to send him from court for appearance sake."

Archer absorbed this bit of information. She seemed awfully upset that her horse master had been accused of murder and had to be sent away. Then, it dawned on him. It was obvious. She is in love with this horse master.

That would not only explain her oddly emotional reaction to his question, but also why she had suddenly starting spending time with him. Archer, as the mysterious sea captain who had saved her life, was a substitute for the absent boyfriend, who may or may not have murdered his wife.

The cogs in Archer's brain turned further. A queen waiting in the wings might be a powerful motive for killing an inconvenient wife. "Do you think he'll be cleared soon?" asked Archer.

She inhaled and looked off into the distance.

"We believe so. We must believe so," she said.

When turned back to look at him, he caught her eyes. "I hope, for your sake, he's back by your side soon."

She glanced at him, as though doubting his sincerity. But he was sincere. He just wanted to help Silik restore the timeline. He wanted nothing else from her. Except, maybe to find out what made her tick. She was an interesting lady, after all.

"If Sir Robert returns, you'll have less time to spend with me," she said haughtily, "I could very well return to riding with him. He's certainly a better horseman."

Archer smiled at her. "I'm more comfortable training your dogs, anyway. I'll better earn your favor in that capacity," he replied, "and beyond that, I plan on continuing my explorations. It would please me to know you won't be without company while I'm gone."

Elizabeth kicked her horse into a gallop. "Sometimes, Jon," she said as she rode away, "I almost believe it when you say you want nothing but my happiness."

* * *

Malcolm arrived to Kew House, alone, having received an invitation that morning. He knew for a fact that Sir Robert had gone hunting that day. The invitation was from Lady Mary SIdney.

A servant took his cloak and showed him into the same room where he'd met with Sir Robert, and a roaring fire had been lit. Malcolm, accustomed to the near-perfection of a starship's climate system, walked toward the fire to warm himself. For a moment, he envied Trip having a built-in bed warmer in the form of a Vulcan.

Lady Mary practically glided into the room, and Malcolm bowed.

"Reverend Reed," she said, offering her hand to kiss, "I am very pleased you could come."

He kissed her hand, taking note of the wedding ring and a golden bracelet. Her nails weren't painted, but they had been manicured in some way. Unlike most every person he had met since arriving in this time and place, her hands weren't dirty or calloused. She also had all her teeth, and they were relatively white. Beyond that, she was quite beautiful. This thought saddened him, as he knew that sometime in the not so distant future a bout with smallpox would destroy that beauty.

"It is my pleasure, milady," he said, looking into her brown eyes.

"Robin is distraught over the investigation, and he cannot appear to interfere in it. However, I have contacts at Cumnor Place. They claim to have information that might clear Robin of Amy's murder. I was wondering if you would accompany me. You're not known to be associated with our family. You could question the witness without being suspect."

Malcolm stared at Lady Mary, and he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. "Why not just send the witnesses in question to the official investigators?"

Mary looked pained, and she turned to stare out the window. She did not answer. Malcolm answered for her instead.

"Perhaps it's because you care for your brother enough to find out what the witness will say," he said smoothly, "which is what any loving sister would do."

She closed her eyes. "You are right, but perhaps you don't guess my reasons. He loved Amy," she said. "It was a love match from the beginning. He would not have harmed her, of that I am certain. However, if he's cleared of her murder that might make him believe he could marry the queen. Or the queen might believe she could marry him."

Even in the wrong history Malcolm read, that had not happened. However, Malcolm was curious as to why Mary seemed so concerned about the possibility of her brother becoming king consort.

"It might benefit you and your family, especially your children," said Malcolm, "if the queen raised your brother up to consort."

Mary turned and glared, tears forming in her eyes. "I had a brother who was consort for nine days. He lost his head. As did my father, whose ambition put Guildford there. As did my sister-in-law, who was innocent in the whole matter. Robin, John and Ambrose were condemned, and only my youth and sex prevented me from going to the tower. Robin learned nothing from those days if he thinks he can marry the queen."

Malcolm nodded. The tragic story of the nine day Queen, Jane Grey, was well known to British schoolchildren. He realized that he had a powerful ally in Lady Mary Sidney, who would want her brother restored to the queen's good graces but not so much so that the queen would think it prudent to marry him. Lady Mary's goals lined up with Malcolm's own.

"We'll go to Oxfordshire tomorrow," he said, "and we'll talk to your witnesses. I've a feeling that the truth will work in your favor, milady, if not precisely in your brother's favor."

Mary appeared to relax at that, and she held out her hand. "Thank you," she replied.

Malcolm kissed her hand, and suddenly he found himself quite looking forward to a ride in the English countryside.

* * *

T'Pol looked down at the metal tub that several members of the crew had filled with

fresh water. The journey to the palace had covered T'Pol with a layer of dust and smoke, not to mention other foul smelling particles of indeterminate origin. If she hoped to sleep at all, she needed a bath.

The crew had transported in the water from the ship and then heated it with phase pistols rather than bringing it in kettles. Nevertheless, it was still gracious of the crew acting as servants to set the bath out for her. One of them had also built a roaring fire in the fireplace, so the room, which had exposed wooden beams and small window that looked out over the front garden three stories below, was relatively warm.

It was Mr. Reed who had insisted they needed a base on the surface. In his guise as a minister and representative of the Tucker family, he had rented a rather fine house not far from Sir Robert's home. He hoped as neighbors, they would be able to get news from court as well as win Sir Robert's trust.

From within the house, they could transport up to the ship and back, but Mr. Reed feared that curious neighbors might somehow discover an absence when none of them had been seen leaving the building so he suggested minimal trips back and forth. They had also brought minimal equipment, just what could be easily hidden.

She and Trip were sharing the large master bedroom, ostensibly to further the ruse they were the Master and Mistress of the household. Neither Mr. Reed nor any of the other crew commented, and they all treated this as an expected and, in fact, normal sleeping arrangement. So did Trip.

Trip was currently on the first floor, working on improving the safety and efficacy of some pistols they had purchased. This was a dangerous and primitive time in Earth's history, and it was logical they be armed when moving about the city.

So, she was alone. She was also unable to undress herself. The laces of her gown and corset were not designed for the person who wore them to undo. She understood this was customarily the job of a woman's servant, but she didn't want to bother Cutler or one of the other crewmen acting as servants with such a task. All of them were busy making the the house comfortable and or trying to track the source of the the strange radiation they had detected.

The door opened a crack. "Is it safe to come in, Mistress Tucker?" drawled Trip in a teasing voice.

"It is," she replied, "I require your assistance."

Trip came in the room and shut the door. "What do you need?"

She didn't turn around to look at him. "I need you to undress me."

She heard him laugh and glanced over her shoulder. He looked maddeningly amused.

"I can always ask Cutler..."

"No, no," he said, "I get it. I can't get out of my clothes very easily either. I can't imagine what yours must be like. These getups are so uncomfortable, I'm envious of the people playing the servants."

He stepped behind her and undid her gown. She took the dress from him and carefully hung it on a hook in the wardrobe. Trip then undid the laces of her corset, which he removed for her and tossed on a nearby dresser. He then put his fingers in the small of her back and pressed hard.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said as her body relaxed.

"My pleasure, Mistress Tucker," he said softly.

Her heart beat faster at the way he spoke the words. It was just a cover identity, and yet he seemed to behaving as though they were actually mates.

"Traditionally, human women of this time bathed in their undergarments," she said, eyeing the bath.

"Thankfully," he replied, "Vulcans aren't so modest. Bathing in your underwear would be silly." He casually walked to the window. "I won't look. I promise."

"Very well," she replied and quickly stripped naked. She lowered herself into the bath. The water was warm and soothing. She began to wash her body. This time and place smelled so unpleasant, she had returned to using a nasal numbing agent, but she could still tell her bath had been sweetened with rose water.

"Cutler said that when I am finished, she will arrange clean bath water for you," said T'Pol.

Trip who had turned around and was watching her from the window. "Looking forward to it. It's dusty as hell out there with all the horses kicking up the dirt roads."

"I hope we will be able to return to the ship soon."

Trip folded his arms. "And then what? Say we find Archer. Say we restore the timeline. Then what? Daniels, the guy who brought us here, is dead. How are we going to get back to our own time?"

She sighed. "I don't know," she replied.

"What do we if we're stuck here forever?"

"We'll find a way to survive," she replied, "The other Enterprise did, when they found themselves trapped in the wrong time."

She moved to get up, and Trip took a towel and held it out for her, wrapping her against the chill while averting his gaze. This was illogical, of course, he knew what she looked like unclothed. He moved her in front of the fire, where she could dry off and be buffered against the chill. He brought her a white nightshirt, which she pulled over her head.

"Your turn," she said, and she pulled her communicator from a drawer and arranged for the old water to be transported out and in favor of new. After that was done, Trip heated the water with his phase pistol.

He needed little help getting out of his clothes and slipping into the water. He didn't have an elaborate hairstyle to maintain, so he wet his hair. Without a word, she knelt behind the tub and began assisting him as he lathered his hair, massaging his scalp with her fingers.

"Thanks," he said.

She took a pitcher and rinsed his hair and dried it. He finished bathing and stood up, and she wrapped him in a towel. He shivered from the chill and moved closer to the fire as she gave him his nightshirt.

"I miss the ship," he said, dropping the towel and pulling on the gown quickly.

As he did so, she kept her eyes locked on his face and nothing else. She remembered what he looked like, though.

"I miss it as well," she replied.

"Maybe I should transport up. We've been using the transporter for equipment, food and water. Nobody's gonna come looking for us"

She shook her head.

"We can't be sure of that, and we can endure this a few nights, at the least."

He nodded, and then he glanced over at the bed.

"You want me to sleep on the floor?"

"That's not necessary," she said.

She climbed into the bed and gestured for him to join her. He did so, crawling under the blankets. The width of the bed was small, but they were able to situate themselves for sleep so they were not touching.

"Goodnight, Mistress Tucker," he said.

"Goodnight," she said.

He was soon asleep, but she lay awake a long while wondering if they ever would return to their own time.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Trip left T'Pol to her meditation and went downstairs to scrounge breakfast. He found Malcolm drinking coffee and eating cereal, two foods which were not available in this time and place and had been brought from the ship. Trip helped himself.

"Where's T'Pol?" asked Malcolm, his voice a little too casual.

"Meditating," he replied, his own voice a little too casual.

Malcolm nodded. "You two seem quite convincing as a married couple. I don't think anyone would question the validity of the story. T'Pol's obviously very committed to the play acting, given that she's willing to share your room."

Trip inhaled and sipped his coffee. "We're both committed to the idea."

"You know," replied Malcolm, "just yesterday, one of the neighbors remarked on how close you two seem. Asked me if I had performed the ceremony. I said yes."

Trip sighed. He knew what Malcolm was getting at, and he wanted to deny anything was going on, but that wasn't true. Something was going on, just not sex. He decided simply to skirt the issue. "I'm thinking we should move to North America if we can't get back. Found a little out-of-the-way colony."

Malcolm downed the last of his coffee and poured himself another cup from a carafe on the table.

"You're awfully pessimistic. If we restore the time, Silik's people might bring us home. He seems to think they will."

Trip was savoring every bite of his cereal. During the days, they were often confined to the local food, which wasn't great. "I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, stuck or not, I'm not giving up on T'Pol. We're...well, whatever we are, it's not an experiment. It's not casual."

Malcolm was looking at him with pity. _Pity_. He obviously didn't understand. Hell, Trip didn't understand, but he was absolutely sure he wasn't an experiment. And she wasn't married. With kids. And from another time.

"Speaking of which," continued Trip, "How was your meeting with Lady Mary?"

"I told you. She's going to help me find witnesses that might clear Dudley and get him back to court."

"I'm sure it will be pleasant to spend the day in the country with her," observed Trip.

"She is married," replied Malcolm, "but it will be. More interesting than hanging around here waiting for information from Silik."

Trip nodded. They didn't want to miss the captain, and Silik had promised to bring them news of his arrival back at the palace. Trip, along with T'Pol and the others, had a long day of waiting ahead of them.

* * *

"I had a feeling you'd want an opportunity to be more than the queen's dog trainer," said Sir Francis Walsingham. The two of them walked on the ramparts of The Tower of London, looking out at the river, which was choppy and dark.

"The queen has my loyalty," replied Archer. "I'll do anything to keep her safe and on her throne, including lay down my own life." It wasn't a lie. Archer's own future depended on Elizabeth's survival.

"How come?" asked Sir Francis, "You don't strike me as a man of deep religious conviction. What is it to you if the queen is Elizabeth or Mary of Scotland?"

Archer sighed. He'd been raised by an engineer and a scientist. He'd attended maybe five human religious services in his whole life. However, having spent some time in this era, he did have an answer. "I don't want to go back to the days of the burnings," he said. "People shouldn't be burned alive because of theological disagreement."

Sir Francis smiled very slightly. "A quite radical notion, Captain, but how do you feel about traitors?"

Archer sighed. He knew he'd better not sound too enlightened, if he valued his own skin. "An entirely different matter," he replied.

The two men entered the Tower, and Sir Francis led Archer down a narrow, winding staircase and down the hall of a cell block. The moaning and crying of the prisoners echoed against the stone walls as they reached a cell, which Sir Francis unlocked.

Inside the cell was a man, dark haired, with a beard and dark eyes. His clothes, which had once probably been quite fine, had been shredded, and hideous wounds, bruises and cuts, married the man's face and arms. His eyes batted open, but his head lolled to one side.

"Father Antonio has given his confession. He has been planting slanders that she ordered the death of Lady Dudley."

Archer folded his arms, pretending not to be disgusted by the man's wounds. It was difficult to resolve the charming woman who took such an interest in her people, working to rise them from poverty and stopping religious persecutions, with one who would order the torture of people who spread lies about her. But then again, Archer supposed, lies could fuel rebellions, and she had many enemies. The burnings carried out by her sister must have never been far from her mind. Should Bess lose her throne, it might be to another fanatic, one who would finish the job her sister started.

Since finding himself back in time, Archer had put much of what had happened in the Expanse out of his mind, but this place had brought it all back. On the one hand, the things he did in the Expanse paled in comparison to the things Bess ordered every day. Torture. Entrapment. Beheadings. The lovely and ethical queen thought nothing of those things; they were merely unpleasant tools of statecraft - necessary to keep her enemies at bay. In fact, Walsingham and her secretary of state, William Cecil, seemed to think their queen far too often erred on the side of mercy and was far too tolerant of religious differences. Walsingham had flat out said that the queen's most dangerous quality was her reticence to sign execution orders.

On the other hand, the darkness and harshness of the world - not just the violence, but the deep class hierarchy and the sorry state most humans lived in - brought home to Archer just how proud he had been of his people's progress, before the Expanse, and just how ashamed he was that rather than furthering that progress his legacy would be as someone who hindered, even retarded that progress.

Sir Francis eventually led Archer out of the cell and back out to the courtyard.

"You need to convince the queen that her relationship with Dudley is over," said Sir Francis. "You can provide her distraction, up to a point. Make her less lonely without him, while still understanding your place."

Archer laughed, out loud. "How do you know that I won't be worse than Dudley?"

Sir Francis's face was a mask, but he did speak. "It's clear your head does not itch for a crown. That automatically makes you better."

Archer shook his head. "All I want is to return to my old life of exploring," he said truthfully.

"That is something Cecil and I can make happen," replied Walsingham.

Archer smiled, and as they headed out of the Tower, he fervently wished it was so.

* * *

Malcolm and Lady Mary Sidney rode side by side. Although she had five servants with her, she had dressed plainly, as though she might be a puritan as Malcolm was. Malcolm stared at the woman, and he couldn't help but smile a little to himself. He hadn't seen an English beauty like hers in far too long. Even though she was married, his heart skipped a little each time he saw her.

"Sir Richard was at Cumnor the day after Lady Dudley died," said Mary, "He must know something."

Malcolm nodded. "He might well. Or he might be looking for your favor. Or your brother's favor. We don't know his motives," replied Malcolm.

Lady Mary looked a bit crestfallen, but she nodded. "I will simply hope for the best."

"That's all any of us can do, milady," replied Malcolm, who kept his eyes on the road to that she wouldn't notice his admiring gaze.

* * *

Archer had returned to Whitehall, and he had been immediately summoned to the Queen's chambers. As he bounded up the stairs, it occurred to him just how accustomed he'd become to life at court and, more specifically, at the queen's beck and call."

The queen and her group had moved into the privy chamber, a room in which Archer was quickly ushered. He bowed before her, but the queen hardly noticed. She was pacing and mumbling to herself.

"She'll not have passage. We won't allow it. We won't," she spat and gestured for Archer to rise, which he did.

He did not speak however, knowing better than to interrupt her in mid-tirade. And this was quite the tirade. Archer had never seen her so angry, and he guessed whatever upset her was quite significant.

"What do you think, Sir Jonathan, should I allow the ridiculous thing safe passage?"

Archer bit his lip. He didn't have a clue what ridiculous thing of which the queen spoke, something that must have been plain on his face.

"The Dowager Queen of France," shouted Elizabeth, "She now styles herself Mary Queen of Scotland, with an eye on my throne, no doubt."

Archer racked his brain. He knew so little of this period in history. But the name Mary Queen of Scots was familiar. Hadn't she lost her head somehow, just as Elizabeth's mother had? He didn't know, but it was clear that Elizabeth didn't much care for her. It would seem Mary Queen of Scots wanted her job. Something which made the erstwhile Queen of France very foolish. Archer had only known the queen for five minutes before realizing it was best to give her what she wanted.

"She wants passage through your lands? That seems rather presumptuous," replied Archer.

"Perhaps while she is here she can hold court! There are those that think she's the rightful sovereign here," shouted Elizabeth, looking around as though daring someone to step forward and in support of Mary's claim.

"Your grace," said Archer, "I've not been at court long, but only a fool would see you as anything other than completely secure on your throne. I saw the way people reacted in horror when those men tried to kill you. I've seen the way your people look at you. You're the queen, not just by right but in their hearts."

Before Archer's eyes, the queen's expression softened and she smiled. She took several deep breathes, and she closed her eyes.

"She believes me illegitimate," she said. "She believes me to be the bastard daughter of a whore."

Archer rolled his eyes at that. He spoke without thinking. "What happened to your mother was illegitimate. She was the victim, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool or an opportunist."

Archer had forgotten, what was a perfectly logical and sane statement to him might shock someone from the sixteenth century, and he had shocked Bess. What little color there had been in her face drained away. She trembled, and Archer feared she would faint. Her knees buckled, and he moved to catch her. His own heart began to beat, and he thought he had made a dreadful error in mentioning her mother.

After a moment, the queen's eyes fluttered open. "I'm sorry, your grace. I didn't mean to upset you," he said.

"No one has ever...do they really say my mother was innocent?" Her face was soft, almost childlike, and tears formed in her eyes.

Jonathan nodded, "Where I come from, they do. They say the charges were trumped up by your father's counselors who were her enemies." The counselors no doubt had done so at the behest of her father, but Archer thought it better than to mention that at the moment.

"I have seen the documents that convicted her," whispered Elizabeth. "The charges were..." She couldn't continue.

Archer sighed. "They were terrible, and I believe in my heart they were untrue. History will be the judge, but I believe that the wicked woman described in those documents could not have given birth to such an extraordinary child. So it follows that your mother, the late queen, was not as described."

Bess looked at him, and she smiled very slightly, and it appeared she had momentarily forgotten the Queen of Scots. She looked around.

"I wish to go for a walk in the gardens. You shall join me, Jon," she said.

Archer nodded, relieved she seemed to have regained her composure.

* * *

All was quiet in the Tucker house. Eerily quiet, and T'Pol guessed from the glimpse of of grey sky through the window that a storm approached. The fire in her fireplace roared, making the room hotter than any other in the house. After she removed the layers of her clothing and put on her nightclothes, she sat down in front of the fire.

Malcolm had spent the day with Lady Mary, and he hadn't yet returned. He had sent a quick message via his communicator saying that he and Lady Mary would lodge at the house called Cumnor Place for the night, and they would ride back in the morning.

She sighed. The crew had all returned to the ship for the night. They weren't as well known as Trip, T'Pol and Malcolm and thus it was unlikely anyone would miss them. So, Trip and T'Pol were now alone in the house.

She didn't burn a candle to meditate, instead stared at the fire until she reached her white space. Here, she could get control of her emotions, not the least of which was anxiety over their situation. Trip had continued to drop hints, expressing skepticism that they would ever return home to their own era. She was beginning to see the logic in his arguments. On top of that, she had come to realize that he wasn't playacting the role of her mate, and she wasn't entirely sure why she had let him take up the role so genuinely.

She hadn't taken any trellium in weeks, and yet her emotions were far more unruly than they had been. Control took effort. She thought of what her elderly counterpart had said about Trip providing an outlet for her. She meditated on this for a long while before opening her eyes.

She inhaled the air, and she didn't have to turn around to know he had entered the room. She could smell him, and the rose water from the bathes they'd taken each night they'd spent in the house. She turned around.

He smiled, but he didn't say anything, just came to sit next to her on the rug before the fire.

"Have you heard from Mr. Reed?" she asked.

"Not since the first time," he replied, "My guess is he's being very cautious about the communicator."

She nodded. Mr. Reed of all people knew the perils of losing technology in a pre-warp society. The air through the window blew fresh and clean, a rare thing, and the storm had arrived. She heard thunder, which was accompanied by flashes of lightening.

She got up for a moment and shut the window against the storm before returning to her place in front of the fire. He had also changed into his sleeping garment, plain and white like hers. She missed her silks and the comfort of her own bed, and she suspected he did, too.

"One of the things I miss while on starship," he said, "is listening to thunderstorms. And this house, it might be primitive, but they sure built it to keep out the weather."

She searched his face. She knew that this location was far from his home and had a different climate, but he was still on his home planet. She envied that. He looked back at her, and just as she was about to suggest neuropressure to pass the time, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

She shivered slightly at the coolness, but she opened her mouth to him. His arms went around her, pulling her fully into his arms.

He started dotting kisses up her cheek to her ear. His breath was cool in her ear, but not at all unpleasant. She remembered their sexual relations in the Expanse, which had begun so differently. That time, she had been able to excuse her behavior as a byproduct of her addiction, an experiment gone wrong. This time, she knew he would accept no such excuse.

He returned his mouth to hers, kissing her again and again before finally whispering in her ear. "This isn't another exploration. This is for real."

She closed her eyes. "No," she replied, wondering if he had somehow read her mind.

With that, he lifted her to her feet, still kissing her her and led her to the bed. The storm continued to rage outside, providing what she thought was a most appropriate soundtrack to the consummation of what was rapidly beginning to feel like a genuine marriage.

* * *

The sky had gotten dark rapidly, and rain had begun. Malcolm stood in the courtyard of the expansive house called Cumnor Place, which basically functioned as an aristocratic apartment building for high-borns that didn't need or want or couldn't afford their own large house. Sir Richard Verney, the man he had come to question, led he and Lady Mary into the apartment that had belonged to the late lady Dudley. Sir Richard was a burly fellow of about 30, and someone who looked as though he could carry the body of a woman and place it at the bottom of the stairs. He was, in fact, one of the only people at Cumnor place who could have accomplished such a feat.

"The servants found her there," he said, pointing to the bottom of a shallow set of stairs. Malcolm bit his lip. He had seen Amy Dudley's death portrayed in film and even in a painting, always at the bottom of a large flight. This was no large flight. It was a shallow set of stairs, of no more than five narrow steps. It was hard to believe a young woman could break her neck on such a small flight. Malcolm was no doctor, but he found it entirely implausible that she would throw herself down those stairs in a suicide or would manage to die by accidentally falling down them.

Lady Mary examined the steps, and she met Malcolm's gaze. She looked pale. It seemed likely that someone put her body there.

"I hear Lady Dudley was quite melancholy the day she died," said Lady Mary, "Would you agree?"

"Lady Mary," replied Sir Richard, "She was very sad, it is true. She desired to be alone that day, but I swear to you she did no evil thing."

Malcolm bit his lip. Protestant or Catholic, in this era, suicide was not viewed as the fatal outcome of depression but as a shameful, mortal sin. However, a suicide theory would certainly benefit this man, if he was involved in her death. But he seemed more worried about her soul than covering his tracks.

Lady Mary sighed. "Perhaps in her melancholy, she stumbled on the stairs and was unable to catch herself. You saw the body. Was there any evidence that she lived, even for a time, after the fall?"

Malcolm smiled. Lady Mary knew how to ask a good question.

Sir Richard shook his head. "No, milady," he replied. "All that saw assumed she had died instantly."

Malcolm was at a loss, but he had a trick literally up his sleeve. Before arriving at Cumnor, he and Lady Mary had visited the local medical examiner. Due to her high rank, she had convinced the examiner to allow Malcolm to see the autopsy report. Malcolm had surreptitiously scanned the documents and transmitted them to Phlox. Despite their primitive nature, Malcolm hoped Phlox could shine a light on what had happened.


	6. Chapter 6

Archer couldn't believe his eyes. From the second floor balcony, he saw three familiar figures walking in the courtyard. Despite their Renaissance clothing, he'd know them anywhere. Trip, T'Pol, and Malcolm were strolling along, making a go at not looking like they were casing the palace. T'Pol had covered her ears with long hair and was walking arm in arm with Trip. Both of them wore the bright colors common to the monied class, and they made an oddly believable couple. Malcolm was in black, looking very much like a Protestant minister, just a few paces behind.

Archer smiled to himself. The quartermaster had done right by them. He quickly tore himself away from the window and raced down the nearest flight of stairs, past several guards and curious courtiers. He didn't want to make a big scene to draw attention, but he ran in front of them, catching their eyes. He bowed slightly, grinning from ear to ear. He hoped they'd get the cue, and they did, all greeting him appropriately.

"Captain," said Trip breathlessly, "We're sure glad we found you." Trip was smiling broadly, and probably restraining himself from a bear hug or something.

"It's good to see all of you," said Archer

T'Pol's face was soft, and Archer knew just by the look in her eye that she was glad to see him.

"It is agreeable to see you, Captain," said T'Pol, "however there is much to discuss."

Malcolm nodded. "We've been looking for you for days. We even rented a house just up the river from here as a base."

"How did you get here?" asked Archer.

"Daniels brought the entire ship back to this time," said Trip. "Enterprise is in orbit."

Archer inhaled deeply. The news hit him hard, and it both angered and relieved him. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't alone. Unfortunately, his people were here, in this dangerous time. "So, now that you've found me, he'll take us back, right?"

The unhappy faces of all three of his officers answered the question for him.

"Daniels is dead," said T'Pol softly, "and the timeline still needs restoration."

That news stunned him. His stomach turned. T'Pol looked even distressed. Trip and Malcolm were almost scared. The situation was clearly grim.

Suddenly, a great commotion drew Archer's attention. Up on second floor walkway, he saw the queen. She was thankfully in a good mood. She was smiling and laughing with her ladies.

The queen appeared in one of the windows, and all the people bowed deeply. Trip and T'Pol got the cue, but Malcolm just stood there, his mouth gaping open. "Bow Mr. Reed," hissed Jonathan. "You don't want to get on Bess's bad side."

"You call the queen of England, Bess?" asked Reed as he bowed.

"Only when we're alone," replied Archer, trying very hard not to smile.

Bess herself spied Archer from the balcony, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Jonathan," she shouted. "Come here at once. We have matters to discuss with you."

Jonathan looked and replied clearly, "Yes, your grace." He turned to his friends. "I don't know how long I'll be. It might be a few minutes. It might be hours."

The response to this was a raised eyebrow from T'Pol, and incredulous looks from both Trip and Malcolm.

"That's Elizabeth the First," hissed Malcolm. "Have you any idea who she is?"

"As you said, she's the queen," said Archer, "and she knows it."

T'Pol handed Archer a velvet bag she's been carrying. "Inside is a communicator," she whispered. "You can contact us when you are available."

Archer tucked the bag into his pocket, relief washing over him. He would be able to find them again. "I'll see you all soon. I promise."

"You'd better keep that promise, Captain," replied Trip.

Archer nodded and headed off to find Bess. He found her in the hallway, and she beckoned him into her privy chambers. She didn't seem upset, in fact she was smiling.

"I want you to tell me more about your journey to Tibet. You must tell me what the heathen monks are like."

He nodded. The great thing about Tibet was that six or seven centuries likely made no real difference. He could tell Bess all about what he saw, just omitting that he had gotten there via shuttle in one day rather than a year-long journey by land and sea.

Once inside their chambers, Bess sat down in her chair, and Archer followed. She smiled. "You know, I will likely die before ever leaving the shores of England," she said wistfully. "I must depend on explorers like yourself to travel for me."

He looked into her eyes. She was regretful but resigned to this state of affairs. He leaned over. "The monks do the most amazing things with their voices. They can sing three notes at a time. I saw a group of them perform..."

Archer went on, and as he began telling his story, he almost, but not quite, forgot that his crew waited for him.

* * *

Phlox stared at the scans of Amy Rosbart's primitive autopsy. As rudimentary as it was, it did illustrate the nature of her neck break quite explicitly, and even a most unfortunate fall would not have caused a break like that in such a young woman. However, the physician noted there was no evidence of bruising on her neck.

Phlox sighed. He had been curious about visiting the surface, and now it seemed he had an excuse. Of course, he would have to devise quite a disguise, but he had already discussed options with Mr. Reed and the quartermaster. He smiled and called down to the quartermaster.

"Mr. Kell," he said, "It seems I will be coming for the fitting we discussed."

* * *

It was mid-afternoon, and Archer exited a barge, tossing the barge captain a generous tip, though he had no idea if you tipped barge captains. His eyes scanned the roads, and he realized he wasn't sure where he was going. T'Pol had texted him the location of their rented house, but Archer couldn't pull out his communicator to pinpoint where he needed to go. This area of London appeared practically suburban compared to the area around Whitehall. Fine looking houses, with gardens, were nestled amongst trees. However, the houses weren't numbered.

Archer politely doffed his hat to a servant woman on the street. "Goodwife, do you know the house where Mister Tucker resides?"

She nodded and pointed down the road to a well kept, three story house. "Aye, he and his wife are staying there, with a minister."

Archer nodded. He had surmised their cover identities by their dress. It made sense.

"Thank you," replied Archer, heading toward the house.

He opened the front gate and walked down the path, wondering if he should knock. He did, and after a few moments, Crewman Cutler opened the door, dressed as a servant.

"Captain," she said with a grin, "Trip said you'd be coming. Come in."

"My pleasure," replied Archer as he entered the house and found himself in a cozy foyer. Thus far, he'd been in dank apartments or in the Queen's luxurious quarters. This appeared to be a prosperous but middle class home.

"The commanders are in the parlor," said Cutler, "but Mr. Reed has gone to Kew House up the road to see the Lady Mary." She led him to two wooden double doors. "I'll announce you."

Archer smiled. Cutler had clearly embraced her role, although she had better skin, hair and teeth than any of the servants he had seen since arriving in this time period.

"Captain Archer is here," she said.

A fire roared in a big fireplace, and he saw Trip and T'Pol seated on some kind of settee, together, looking over some papers. They both had goblets of wine as well. They both looked up and simultaneously appeared relieved to see him. They stood up.

"I'll explain what I've been up to, but I'd like a report about the ship first," replied Archer.

T'Pol answered, explaining that the majority of the crew had not even come down to the surface and were safe and well aboard the ship. The crew that had come to the surface, including Trip, T'Pol and Malcolm, had thus far maintained their cover identities, thanks to Mr. Reed's idea that they should pretend to have just returned from foreign exile.

"Our goals have been two-fold," said T'Pol. "We wished to find you, and we have been attempting to restore the timeline by assisting in the investigation of the death of Lady Dudley."

Archer furrowed his brow.

"It's one of the differences between the wrong timeline and the right one. Sir Robert needs to be invited back to court. If he doesn't go, everything goes wrong." Trip had an odd look on his face. So did T'Pol for that matter.

"If he doesn't return, the queen finds you an excellent substitute repository for her affections," she said pointedly.

Archer stared at them. Trip and T'Pol were both looking at him with a combination of amusement and accusation. While it was true that Bess enjoyed his company, there was certainly nothing untoward going on between them. The poor woman was not afforded much of a personal life given she was never alone with anyone. "Bess enjoys the company of explorers, that's true. And since I saved her life, she's taken a mild interest in me. But nothing's going on."

Trip folded his arms. "Not yet. But wait until you hear what Malcolm found in the history files."

Archer sat down on the couch, thinking. Bess had certainly shown an flirtatious interest, but it had been clear to Archer that favorites came and went. He never felt like anything more than a momentary amusement.

T'Pol got up and retrieved a PADD, and she held it out to him. "I've highlighted the relevant text. This is an incorrect history from Daniel's device. On the next page, you will find the correct historical information."

Archer took the PADD, and he read. And read again. It was only speculation, but it was enough. He even had the good sense to blush under the accusatory gaze of his officers.

He sighed. "So, any ideas on how we fix this?"


	7. Chapter 7

Malcolm walked arm and arm with Lady Mary, as they entered the warehouse space that would serve as a lab for Phlox. Several crew members, disguised as grave robbers had retrieved Amy Dudley's sealed casket from the cemetery and brought it to the place, lit with candles. Incredibly, Silik had joined in the retrieval, using some of his Suliban stealth skills to assist the operation.

They had briefly discussed transporting the body to sickbay, but without a trustworthy witness, Phlox's autopsy would have no meaning. Walking behind Lady Dudley was a bearded man in velvet robes of purple, who was the famous scientist and astrologer Dr. John Dee. Lady Mary was a patron of Dee, who had the trust of the queen, and his seal of approval would make the results official.

"Remember, Dr. Phlox's assistant is a Moor," said Malcolm softly.

Travis and Phlox stood in the center of the room, lit by lanterns and in lavish dress. Travis had embraced the Moor story, dressed from head to toe in crimson and blue robes befitting a North African prince. Phlox, whom they said was a German physician, wore European clothes, but they were accented with an ornate gilded mask to hide his face. He had caught a plague, they had said, and had been disfigured by it.

"Please stay back," said Phlox, a gloved hand gesturing toward them. "The body will contain infections that can be caught. Please put on a mask." His voice echoed through the mask, adding to the already eerie mood in the room.

Phlox had laid out white linen masks, which had been treated with disinfectant.

Malcolm put his own on before helping Lady Mary put on hers. Malcolm couldn't help but think about what he knew about Mary contracting smallpox. He had asked Phlox for an inoculation, which he could surreptitiously give Mary, but Phlox denied the request as unethical.

"If you become sickened by anything you see," whispered Malcolm to Mary, "we can remove you."

She inhaled. "I will not become ill," she said, "I've seen much worse than this."

Malcolm smiled. She was a tough lady.

Trip and T'Pol had not come to the autopsy, but Captain Archer had. He approached, already wearing a mask. He bowed to Lady Mary.

"This is Sir Captain Archer," said Malcolm.

Mary nodded. "I hear you have been a great comfort to the queen these weeks," said Mary pointedly.

Archer nodded in return. "I serve her majesty, as we all do."

"I'll need quiet so I can concentrate," ordered Phlox, "and do remain behind the line I have drawn on the floor for your own safety."

* * *

Trip and T'Pol sat in the captain's mess, looking down on the blue planet that was Earth. They had both spent a long, leisurely meal savoring every bite of chef's cuisine. Trip had remarked at least twenty times about how comfortable his uniform was, and she had remarked how glad she was to be free of the corset and hair extensions. Malcolm and the captain had both agreed it was no longer necessary for them to stay on the surface, and Trip and T'Pol had, only hours earlier, gratefully transported back to the ship.

One thing they had brought from the surface, however, was a bottle of fine wine. _Enterprise_ had long run out of its wine supply while in the Expanse, and they thought it would be a waste to leave behind more wine than Malcolm and the others could possibly drink, so they brought several back several bottles with them.

Trip held up a very modern wine glass. "To home. Whether in this century or our own, _Enterprise_ is home."

She clinked his glass and took a sip. She looked entirely Vulcan, down to the ears and the blue catsuit, except for one thing. She hadn't taken off the gold wedding band that had been part of her disguise. He hadn't taken his off either. Neither of them had spoken about it.

She met his gaze. "The other versions of us made a life for themselves as a generational ship. It is logical to assume we could do the same."

He smiled at her, and he suddenly felt brave. Brave enough to utter, "And in this timeline, I promise not to get myself killed when our kid is only fourteen. In fact, I think we should have more than one. We'll have to speak to Phlox about that when he returns."

She blushed and looked away, but she didn't appear angry. "That might be presumptuous. Malcolm and the captain might restore the timeline. Silik's people could come and retrieve us. Or Daniels's people."

Trip moved closer to her and took her hand. "All the better. It'll be safer for you if Phlox has access to 22nd Century technology, beyond what's in sickbay."

Her hand trembled, but she didn't pull it away. "It will be more difficult in other ways, if we're not isolated."

He inhaled, rubbing the center of her palm with his thumb. Her hand was so warm. He'd gotten used to it over the last year, but it still fascinated him. "You don't talk much about your family. I know your dad died, but what about your mom?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know how she'll react," she replied. "What about your parents?"

He sighed. "They'll worry, but they'll love you. They've been wanting me to settle down forever...and I sure hope I get to introduce you."

She nodded. He leaned over and kissed her lips. She responded, and she showed no sign of backing off or blowing him off or saying it was all an experiment. This was a good thing, he thought, even if they never get back to their own time.

* * *

"Return this woman to her casket," ordered Phlox, his echoing voice eerily distorted by his mask. The "servants", including Silik, obeyed immediately, treating the corpse with utmost respect. "Nobody remove your mask until you are out of this room," continued Phlox as he approached the witnesses.

"Mr. Mayweather will return the casket to its resting place."

"I don't wish this to be common knowledge," said the Dr. Dee. "Some of the local folk are very superstitious about exhumations. Truthfully, there's some that already insist they've heard Lady Dudley's ghost cursing her majesty, the queen. I don't wish to add to that."

"They will use discretion," replied Phlox.

Dee stepped forward. "I will escort them to the graveyard," he said, "I carry papers that will keep them out of the gaol, should anyone discover us." The man nodded, and then he bowed to the Lady Mary. "I look forward to your report in the morning, Dr. Phlox."

With that, Travis and the others all looked at one each other. They would not be carrying the casket with help from futuristic technology. Malcolm nodded at them, trying not to smile. There was enough of them to get the casket to the cart, and they soon were carrying her out of the warehouse followed by the Dee.

"Did you see any evidence she was murdered?" asked Lady Mary bluntly. She stared at Phlox.

Phlox shook his head. "No," he replied. "She likely died by accident. I will need to run some tests on my samples, but I saw evidence of malignant tumors in her body. They could have weakened her bones, which would explain why a tumble down a shallow flight of stairs would prove fatal. I have more theories, but I must run my tests."

Lady Mary nodded, reaching her hand to her mask and pressing it to her face. Malcolm sensed she was relieved.

"I'll get you back to the your lodging. We can return to Kew in the morning, and by then Phlox may well have his results."

She nodded. "Thank you doctor," she said.

Malcolm locked eyes with Archer. These results were good news. The information wouldn't clear Dudley of suspicion, but it would stop the search for a mythical "real killer" that would exonerate him. The shadow of murder would make it impossible for Queen Elizabeth to marry him. They were one step closer to restoring the timeline.

All of a sudden, Lady Mary's breathing became labored.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She couldn't answer. Phlox approached her. "Anaphylactic shock. What did you use to soak the linen?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Besides the disinfectant you gave me, some oil given to me by the local apothecary to mask the smell."

Malcolm put his arms around Lady Mary, whose lips were rapidly turning blue. "She can't die, Phlox. She doesn't die."

Archer removed his own mask. "Let's get her to _Enterprise_. We'll worry about the consequences later."

Phlox nodded. He took a communicator out of his pocket. "_Enterprise_, we need to beam Malcolm and his companion up immediately. Have the medikit ready. The female patient needs an epi-hypospray."

Malcolm's eyes widened. Suddenly, Mary dematerialized in his arms. He followed shortly after.

The first thing Malcolm saw was a crewman standing over a prostrate Lady Mary, practically at Malcolm's feet. Her eyes were wide with terror. Malcolm could only imagine that she thought she had died and was in the afterlife. The crewman administered the hypo, and Malcolm approached quickly.

"Mary," he said, "You are going to be fine. Don't be frightened. We've just quickly moved you to a place where we can treat you."

But her eyes fluttered shut. Whether it was from the medicine or from the shock, Malcolm didn't know.

Phlox had materialized. After that, Archer.

"Can we make her unconscious?" asked Archer.

Phlox took off his metal mask. "Not until I gauge how she's recovering. It's not worth the risk," he said. "But there might be options for dealing with her memories of this place," said Phlox, "but one thing at a time."

By then, crew had arrived with a stretcher and were putting her on it, her black dress billowing over the side.

Malcolm looked at Archer, but the captain's face was unreadable. One thing was sure, though, this was a problem they did not need.

* * *

Archer paced outside sickbay, feeling ridiculous. He hadn't bothered to change out of his Renaissance garb and he was constantly being greeted by members of his crew, who were thrilled to see with their own eyes he was alive and well, tights not withstanding. Porthos, who had joyously greeted him with slobbering kisses, wagging his tail and whimpering, paced with him.

Phlox had determined Lady Mary was well enough to be sedated and had done so. She was lying on a biobed in sickbay. Meanwhile, Phlox was examining the lab tests he had done on Amy Dudley's body.

All of a sudden, Trip and T'Pol showed up, dressed very much like their normal selves. Trip carried a uniform in his arms and tossed it to Archer. "I figure you'd at least want to be more comfortable while you're here."

Archer nodded. He strolled into sickbay and got behind a curtain. It took some doing, but he managed to wiggle out of the clothes on his own and get into uniform.

"What's the verdict?"

Phlox stared at the scans. "As I suspected, metastasized cancer. What's more, Lady Dudley had been treating herself for the pain. There's evidence of opium in her system, specifically laudanum."

Archer shook his head. It made sense. The poor woman must have been in agony. "Did they even have laudanum at this time?"

Phlox nodded in the affirmative. "They've had it for a generation, but it's expensive and rare. Lady Dudley would likely have not wanted her servants to know she had it, lest they attempt to steal it. At least, that's what a person gripped with the paranoia associated with this kind of late stage cancer might think."

Archer looked over at the live patient, unconscious and looking very out of place. "What are we going to do with her?"

Phlox sighed. "According to Mr. Reed, she's no obscure woman. She's the mother of two of the next generation's great poets, including the first notable female poet of the English language. She must be returned. I can probably obscure her memories of this incident, but not until she completely recovers from the allergic reaction."

"When will she wake up?" asked Archer.

"I'll need to do some tests," said Phlox, "Although, I imagine she'll be quite terrified whenever that may be."

Archer walked over to her, taking note of her fine clothes and unmarred features. She was an educated woman, and Malcolm had said something about her having common sense. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Let's just make sure it's Malcolm's face, not yours, she sees when she wakes up."


	8. Chapter 8

Bess, who was wearing an exceptionally large white collar and a red dress with golden embroidery, stared at the paper Archer had given her, and she read it for what he thought must have been the third or fourth time. They were standing in her private chambers, alone except for a guard near the door.

"Where did you obtain this?" she asked, again.

"I told you. A physician who served on my ship did an autopsy on Amy Dudley. The local magistrate knew. Sir Robert's sister arranged it."

Bess put the paper down on her desk. "Why would you give this to me?" she asked accusingly.

"It proves Sir Robert did not cause her death," replied Archer. "I thought it would make you happy, your grace."

She stomped over to him, glaring. "Why would you want to help Robin?"

Archer looked her straight in the eye. She might be a queen, but he wasn't going to let her stare him down. He'd spent enough time to know that she specialized in blistering gazes designed to intimidate. Since he had been reunited with his crew was no longer dependent on her good graces, he wasn't in the mood to cower.

"I want your happiness," he replied.

She stepped even closer, and then she threw her arms around his neck.

_What the hell?_ thought Archer, _When am I ever going to get the chance to kiss a queen again?_

He brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her hard. He felt her tremble and swoon, and he put his arms around her waist to support her. She kissed him back. It wasn't at all unpleasant, even though her mouth tasted of cloves and wine.

Then she broke the kiss. She put her hand up to her lips and stared. Archer grinned at her. He had seen this woman through many moods, but he had never seen her speechless.

"I shouldn't have done that, Bess," he said, "because I know you can't marry a humble sea captain."

She looked at him.

"Who should I marry?" she replied.

"I always thought you were married to England." he said, "as I'm married to my ship."

She sighed. "Robin has proposed in a letter," she replied, her voice trembling, "but I don't wish to marry anyone. As you say, I am married to England."

"From where I'm standing, it looks to be a happy marriage," he said.

Archer guessed this was not just political expediency. Her father had had her mother killed, which would lend itself to being commitment phobic.

Bess suddenly turned back and returned to her desk, picking up the paper. "This will not be enough to lift the veil of suspicion on Robin. Everyone will believe I paid the physician off. And all the witnesses."

Archer shrugged. "At least you'll be able to explain to him why you can't marry him, at least for now."

She paused, but she did not respond.

"No one should be entirely discouraged, after all," continued Archer, a twinkle in his eye. He'd seen her string along more than one royal suitor since he'd arrived at court, and he wasn't above letting her know he knew why.

She smiled. "Who knows? Maybe one day I will find the right suitor? Until then, I will serve England."

Archer smiled. "And England has no better servant," he said.

* * *

Malcolm stood over Lady Mary's biobed, about to administer a stimulant hypospray to waken her. Phlox was just outside, and he had dimmed the lights to evoke candlelight. Artificial lighting would no doubt frighten Mary. Given her condition, Phlox thought it best she not be sedated again, so T'Pol was to administer a nerve pinch should she become hysterical. Also, she had liked T'Pol when they had met, so it was possible her presence might be helpful.

He pressed the hypo inter her neck, and he watched as her eyes began to flutter.

"Lady Mary," he whispered, "It's Malcolm. You're safe and you're well. We just needed to move you to a place where Dr. Phlox could treat your allergic reaction."

Mary opened her eyes fully. She smiled slightly, then tried to sit up. She looked around, obviously confused.

"Where am I?" she whispered.

"You're on a ship," said Malcolm.

She sat up. "This is like no ship I've ever seen," she replied.

"I would think not," said Malcolm. He took a deep breath, and then he decided to explain to her the truth. If she didn't handle it well, they could always try and wipe away her memory. When he had finished, she thought for awhile. Then she sat up, and she trained her eyes on T'Pol.

"Mistress Tucker," she said, "you look different."

T'Pol approached, hands behind her back.

"My name is T'Pol. I serve on this vessel as its first officer," she said. If Mary found the idea of a female first officer surprising, she barely showed it.

"And Mr. Tucker?" asked Mary.

"He is the chief engineer," she replied.

Malcolm stared at Mary. He had expected screams or tears or hysteria of some kind. At the very least, praying. But she was calm. He wasn't sure why, but perhaps she came from a world more inclined to accept the mysterious.

"Phlox needs to examine you," he said. "History shows you lived a long and happy life. We need to make sure that happens."

She smiled. "I don't know so much about happy," she replied, "but it's good to know I live a long time."

Malcolm had a twang of guilt. He had the means to prevent her disfigurement, but that was playing with history. They couldn't afford to risk that, not even for her.

"Do you want to remember this?" asked Malcolm. "You won't be able to tell anyone. They'll think you are mad or burn you as a witch."

She laughed nervously. "Bess doesn't put up with witch burnings," she replied, "and I've spent a lifetime keeping my mouth shut."

They locked eyes. Malcolm wanted to lean over and kiss her, but he couldn't do that either. She was married, after all.

"We'll get you home," he said.

She nodded, and strangely, Malcolm realized that she wished she could stay. But he resolved to enjoy her company until she had to leave.

* * *

Archer was walking along the River Thames, waiting for nightfall so he could transport back up to the ship when Daniels appeared next to him, looking like a country gentleman of some kind.

"I thought you died," said Archer.

"I did, in another timeline, but your crew prevented that," he replied and beckoned Archer toward some buildings and into an alleyway. Very soon, they were transported to _Enterprise_'s bridge, and Earth appeared on the viewscreen. Along with it, hundreds of ships, but the bridge was empty.

"It looks the same," said Archer. "Is it the same? Did we restore things?"

"It is the same," said Daniels, "You're back in your own time."

Archer looked at him.

"It's over. We won. I won't be seeing you again," said Daniels, disappearing.

At that moment, Hoshi walked onto the bridge. "Sir," she said, "We've started to pick up communications..."

He smiled, "I know. We're home. I just need to go change before anyone sees me like this. Tell them I'll be right with them."

Hoshi laughed. "Yes, sir," she replied.

Archer moved quickly back to his cabin, and he found himself a little sad that he never got to tell Bess the truth.

* * *

Three weeks later, Trip, T'Pol and Malcolm sat in the front row of a Starfleet press event. Archer had been expected to say a few words in memory of the Starfleet personnel in the Expanse, and he had instead given a rousing and bittersweet speech about what made humanity valuable, and how humans could not regress in fear. He pledged that he would die not just to protect humanity but what made humanity worth protecting. Compassion. Empathy. Tolerance. Joy. It was the joy that evoked the most passionate response, with Archer referring to dogs and jokes and holidays and April Fool's pranks. Things that were human.

The entire crowd gave him a standing ovation, and the Starfleet brass looked at bit uncomfortable with just how much of a hit the speech was.

Malcolm shook his head. "I think some of Bess's oratory skills rubbed off on him. He's lost some of the self-righteousness in favor of, dare I say, wit?"

Trip glanced over at T'Pol. He'd known her long enough to read her eyes, and she was impressed. He slipped his hand into hers, and she didn't resist despite the fact that they were standing in a large crowd.

"By the way," said Malcolm casually, "I did a search in the database for Renaissance music. There's a song, attributed to composer Lady Mary Sidney nee Dudley, that sounds astonishingly similar to a Vulcan folk tune. Scholars have called it an remarkable coincidence."

"Imagine that," replied Trip with a glance at a silent T'Pol.

The crowd itself was breaking up. Malcolm turned to the two of them. "Have you two any plans for our long, mandatory leave?"

"We're going to Mississippi to visit my folks for a few days, then on to Vulcan," said Trip.

A small smile formed at the corner of Malcolm's mouth. Trip guessed he was wishing to be a fly on the wall during both visits.

"What about you? Any plans?"

Malcolm inhaled. "I've suddenly got a yen to go visit England. There's a grave at Penshurt I'd like to lay some flowers on."

Trip smiled sadly, and T'Pol raised an eyebrow. In the previous weeks, he and T'Pol had engaged in some pillow talk regarding Malcolm's penchant for falling for unattainable women. Trip was about to remark on that, but Ensign Sato, who had been translating for some Tellarite diplomats, approached them.

"Anyone up for a trip to the 602 Club?" she asked, "Phlox and Travis have already headed there."

T'Pol looked at him. "I've heard much about this place. I am curious to see it."

Trip nodded. "We're in. Hey...Hoshi, aren't you supposed to give a Xenolinguistics lecture at Oxford next week?"

She sighed. "Yes, that's how I like to spend my time off."

T'Pol glanced at Trip. "Mr. Reed was just telling us about his own plans to visit his homeland."

"He's got an errand to do. Maybe if you have time, you could keep him company. He can tell you the story of of why. It's kind of romantic."

Hoshi looked puzzled, and she smiled. "Okay..."

Malcolm looked at his shoes, but then he looked up. "It will be fun to have you along."

With that, the four of them headed toward the 602 Club. As Trip walked arm in arm with T'Pol, he thought he detected a bit of conspiratorial mischief in her face. But just a hint.

The End


End file.
